Existing
by TygerZ
Summary: Draco exists, but only with Harry. A H/D ficlet. Rated T for language.
1. Draco

**A/N: Okay, so, this is what I get for reading WAY too many H/D drabbles and ficlets. I decided yesterday that I just HAD to write one of my own, so… here it is. This fic started out innocently enough; in fact, I actually set down to write a cheery, humor filled fic. I'll let you see how well that turned out. **

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Draco didn't know when he started bleeding. All he could process was his blood stained hands, and the not-so-gentle feeling that accompanied blood when it seemed to be gushing out of your stomach. The smell of blood stung his nose, forcing him to remember the last time he had bled. Draco swore that he could still feel the bump on his nose where Weasley had punched him, it was right after Harry had told him about them; about Harry and Draco as friends and as a couple, which included a Harry and Draco that kissed, held hands, and blushed. Frequently.

Some would call it love.

Draco wouldn't.

He didn't know how to describe what the pair of them had, but he wouldn't call it love. He had seen too many failed couples to believe firmly in love anyway. Besides, love was normal; people fell in love every day. And Harry and him were anything but normal.

The look on Granger's face when she caught them snogging behind a suit of armor was evidence to that fact.

But Harry seemed to believe strongly in love. And when Draco was with him, he couldn't help but believe in it to; believe that it applied to _them_. There was no denying Harry when you are wrapped tightly in his arms, and he's whispering soft words in your ear and calling you 'love'.

Draco didn't know what he did to deserve to be loved by Harry. He didn't think he could ever do anything that was make him deserve it. Yet somehow, against the odds, he had it.

It was only when Harry wasn't around that Draco had problems remembering that they could be defined by love. It was hard to remember when he couldn't feel Harry's reassuring kiss on his lips, or when he couldn't hear Harry breathing his name. It was in these times that Draco decided that they just _were_, and there was nothing that could change that fact.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy existed together.

It was that simple.

The blood was coming out quicker now, rushing through the fingers that he had clamped uselessly to his stomach, trying to no avail to stifle the pain. The memories were seeping through too, just like the blood, each one clearer then the one before.

He could remember in perfect detail their first kiss. It was the perfect blend of green and red uniforms, the ideal Christmas couple. Red and green, under the mistletoe. It was the night that Harry learned how to wipe Draco's smirk off his face. Or, to be more exact, how to kiss it off.

Draco liked that way better then when Harry used to try to punch it off him.

It was more effective this way.

The next memory wasn't as sweet, but in a way meant more to Draco then the others. It was the time that Harry had somehow persuaded him to walk into the Great Hall, hand in hand with him. Draco was paler then he usually was as he let Harry lead him in, and looking back on it he was sure that Harry had been the only thing holding him up right then.

Harry, and maybe the look on Snape's face. But that was just an added bonus.

But none of that mattered now. Draco had come here with a mission, and now that it was done, he was dying. It wasn't, after all, like he hadn't known that this was a possibility, he had just hoped it wouldn't happen. He didn't want it to end this way. He wanted to hold Harry again, to see him blush when he teased him. He wanted Harry to come and save him.

But Harry wasn't coming. Draco had been foolish. He had told Harry to stay home, he had said to him that this was something he had to do himself, and that he would be fine. He promised Harry that he would return.

He had never broken a promise to Harry before.

What a shitty way to start.

Draco could feel the memories slipping away, priceless moments with Harry flashing in between bland moments without him. The blood kept spilling out of him, so much that Draco couldn't believe he still had some left.

He had come here today to talk to his father. Harry had told him not to do it, but something in Draco wanted to see the look on his father's face when he told him that he was in love with Harry Potter.

Or, as he couldn't help but think now: he existed with Harry.

But not for long.

Because after the look of shock and disgust had faded from his father's face, his father stabbed him. Just like that.

Draco had been ignorant enough to think that it wouldn't happen. And now Harry would have to pay the price.

He didn't like this feeling, the one that made it seem like he was fading, drifting into the unknown. He wouldn't mind it so much, hell, he might even have liked it, if he could have forgotten that he was leaving Harry. If it could have slipped his mind that he would never get to see him again.

He had left Harry without a goodbye kiss. He had, stupidly, selflessly, believed then that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy existed together.

He had not believed that it could change. But it did.

And the result of it was Draco Malfoy dying on the cold marble floor, soaked in blood, a faint tingling on his lips of the goodbye kiss that he never shared with Harry.

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**A/N:I see a potential sequel to this, so if you want one, just tell me in a review, and I'll put it in another chapter. **


	2. Harry

Harry's vision seemed to be stuck in black and white. The whiteness was the sky, though it was more gray than white. It was empty, void of emotion.

Harry envied it.

The black was all around him. Black shirts, black pants, black dresses. Hell, even he was draped in black; on the inside and out.

Harry felt trapped right now, like heavy weights were sitting on his chest. He felt like he could stab someone right then. He felt like he _wanted_ to. Which was funny, because wasn't that why he was here in the first place? In fact, it was so funny, Harry could almost feel the laughter coming out of his mouth.

Though some would call it sobbing.

But Harry refused to cry. Crying wouldn't bring the other half of him back, he couldn't find himself by shedding tears. It was better to keep his pain inside, and let him tear himself into more pieces.

He was already ripped in half. Why should he stop there?

He was so close to Draco right now, he could touch him. But Harry couldn't bring himself to close the distance, not while Draco had to stay in that black box.

Harry would give anything to hold Draco close to him one more time.

He looked so fake right now. If Harry would allow himself to touch Draco, he would wipe off the makeup that they had put on him. Draco was beautiful without it. Now he looked fake, like a wax man sleeping.

And Draco wasn't sleeping.

Even Harry couldn't pretend that.

A part of Harry wanted to yell at Draco's still form, to rip him apart limb by limb, like they used to try to do when they were young and foolish and spent so much energy wasting time. But people were watching, and Harry refused to touch Draco. Not like this.

Though Harry wished that his resolve wasn't so strong.

Draco had promised him that he would return. That he would be fine. It was the only reason that Harry had let him go by himself, and didn't force Draco to let him come. Draco said that the worst his father would do would be to yell at him and throw him out.

He didn't say he'd kill him.

Draco had never lied to him before. God dammit, he'd never broken a promise to him either.

What a shitty time to start.

Tomorrow this would all be over. Ron and Hermione would stop pretending to be sad. Mrs. Weasley would stop being so understanding when he wanted to be alone and didn't come over. Everyone would move on.

Harry wouldn't.

He couldn't live like this. Not for long. He had already forgotten yesterday; it wasn't until he stared at the empty plate setting in front up him, and called Draco to dinner for the fifth time, that he realized that Draco wouldn't be coming.

That was when his vision became black and white. Harry didn't think that it was ever going to change back.

No, he definitely couldn't live like this.

He glanced behind him, his eyes meeting the rest. They were all staring at him, waiting to see if he'd break down. They would all race to help Harry.

No one raced to save Draco.

Harry turned away from everyone. Let them stare. As long as they didn't come near him. He didn't want anyone close to him right now. Anyone besides Draco.

He didn't want anyone to see his tears.

They were falling quickly now, and Harry allowed them to. There wasn't anything left inside himself to cut away anyway. The Harry Potter that used to exist had been washed away.

Because Harry Potter could only exist with Draco Malfoy.

If Harry was going to cry, he didn't see any reason to keep acting on his other rules.

Harry let his hand fall slowly from the side of the casket to Draco's hand. He gave it a slight squeeze, holding on to it as though it was the only thing keeping him standing. Hell, it probably was. And when Draco didn't squeeze back, Harry felt his heart shatter.

He had been stupid if he thought that his heart was already broken.

Harry laid his head on Draco's chest. Draco's black suit flooded his eyes, blocking out everything else. Harry had wanted Draco to wear white, but no one agreed with him. Black was much more appropriate, they had said.

At least this way, the blood wouldn't stain the suit.

Draco was so cold. Harry could feel it seeping into his skull. Wasn't your head supposed to give off the most body heat? Why couldn't he warm Draco?

Harry waited until he couldn't take it anymore, before standing up, pulling something out of his sleeve, and stabbing himself.

Just like that.

And Harry let his head fall back onto Draco's chest, before he closed his eyes. Keeping them shut, he pressed his lips to Draco's. He let them lay there as he bled.

Harry believed in love. He believed in the Afterlife for that purpose, so that lovers and boyfriends and wives could see each other each other once more. So that they could have one more chance. Harry believed that that was where he was going.

After all, even in death, Harry couldn't exist in a life without Draco.

It was that simple.


End file.
